The Howler of the Wastes
by Benestro
Summary: Sigyn is besieged by occultists in an isolated cabin.


Howler of the Wastes

I

"It is done!" exclaimed Gansuk as he burst into the cabin, throwing to the planked floor a spear and wolfskin cloak. The big Hyrkanian's eyes were wild, and sweat beaded on his brow in spite of the blizzard that raged outside. The other five occupants of the cabin lurched to their feet in shocked surprise.

Bayarma, the matronly proprietor of this rude timber way station poised by the northernmost shore of the Vilayet, bolted from behind the makeshift bar and confronted Gansuk. "What is done? Where is the foreigner? She said you were going to fetch Batzorig and Chingis here before nightfall! What has happened?

Gansuk ran his sleeve across his bearded face, and brandished his studded war-club. "I slew the outlander! Just past the Tortoise Rock I brained the yellow-haired she-devil and left her in a snowdrift. Now the howler shall be appeased!"

"But my brothers!" Bayarma protested, "You were to bring them here!"

"It's no matter! With the barbarian slain, and the Howler appeased. They are in no danger!"

At this, Monkbat, a slight, wiry Hyrkanian, spoke, "Indeed? How has this deed appeased the Howler? Would you now slay your employers here? They too are foreigners, are they not?" He jerked a dirty thumb to the couple standing by the fire, a finely formed mahogany skinned woman and an ebon giant, both clad in fine silks and linens beneath their fur parkas, and both of obvious refinement.

Gansuk frantically strove to reassure the couple, for whom he had acted as guide for the past fortnight. "Nay! Fear not Madame Anesu, mighty Garai! You are not to blame! It was not till the yellow-haired witch arrived at our door that this freakish blizzard struck in the midst of the spring thaw, and the Howler was heard on the steppe!"

"Are you certain she's dead?" asked Garai.

"Aye! I smote her in the back of the skull hard enough to fell an ox. Even if she survived that, she'd freeze before she found her way back here. I took her cloak and spear. It's all over now! We can.."

Gansuk was interrupted as the front door was shaken violently, pulled from the outside against the heavy bar that secured it.

"By the Four Winds!" exclaimed Monkbat, The Howler! It's at the door!"

With a resounding crash the door burst inward off its hinges and fell to the floor, admitting a frigid gust, alive with thick gobbets of snow. With this came a figure in burnished scale mail, a green eyed giantess, her tawny hair clotted with blood, teeth bared and gripping a great war-axe.

Gansuk howled incoherently and swung his club at the intruder. His blow was parried on the axe haft and a savage kick to his chest sent him sprawling to the planks. The axe fell, splitting Gansuk's skull in twain in a welter of blood and brains. Screaming, the woman raised the axe again and cleaved the Hyrkanian's breastbone. Air freed from his burst lungs produced a cloud of crimson mist.

Bayarma screamed and cowered by the bar. Garai drew his sickle bladed sword and placed himself between Anesu and the blonde savage. Monkbat stood unmoving, staring wide eyed at the carnage. The intruder braced her back against the far wall and brandished her gore clotted axe.

"So you curs thought you'd brain me and leave me to the blizzard? Who dies next!"

"Be still, Sigyn." said Garai, speaking the tongue of the Hyrkanians near perfectly, in calm , well modulated tones. "Gansuk did that deed on his own, we had naught to do with it"

"YOU be still, Kushite! Sheathe that shotel and step back where you were ere I strike off your head!"

Anger flickered in Garai's eyes for but an instant, then he complied, stating calmly. "We are not Kushites, we come from Zembabwei."

"That is hardly germane to the matter." said Monkbat. "How did you make it through that squall such a distance, with no coat and a cracked skull.

Sigyn' eyes blazed wildly, and her grin was frightening to behold. "Ha! I am an Aesir, you little fool! My tribe found me frolicking naked in a blizzard worse than this one when I was barely old enough to walk, and my skull is too thick for one of you horse-buggering jackals to crack, by Ymir!"

Sigyn abruptly seized Bayarma by the hair and hurled the hysterical woman into the midst of the others.

"All of you stay where I can see you, and don't move while I decide what's to be done.

Sigyn had arrived at the way station two days before, wandering east after a vexing visit to her homeland, planning to wait here until a boat arrived to take her south via the Vilayet sea. The weather had been pleasant, a majority of the winter snow had melted and grass and flowers had begun to appear here and there. Then abruptly, a blizzard had rolled in, blanketing the land in snow and ice, and frigid temperatures colder than the coldest winter remembered by the locals. She had grown bored, trapped in the cabin, So when odd hoots and howls could be heard outside, and Bayarma had expressed worry about her brothers who were off hunting, Sigyn volunteered to fetch them to the cabin. She had thought nothing of Gansuk's offer to accompany her, and was unprepared for his treachery.

Now she stood leaning unsteadily against the wall, facing down her fellow lodgers.

"How long would you keep us like this Yellow-Hair?" asked Monkbat. "You can barely stand! Why not lower that axe and let Bayarma see to that wound? We can have tea and…"

"Cease your prattle, Monkbat! And call me Yellow-Hair again and you'll sip your tea in hell!"

"Please Sigyn!" sobbed Bayarma, "I tell you we did not know! Gansuk was near frantic with fear of the Howler. He thought you brought it with you, as you passed through Hyperborea. Please, my brothers…"

"The Howler!" Sigyn scoffed. "There is no damned Howler! Those are wolves, or the winds whipping over the snowdrifts. I had thought you Hyrkanians to be made of stronger stuff! I'll… Hold! What is…"

There was a rattling and bumping under the floorboards between Sigyn and the assembled lodgers. Before any had a chance to comment or act, the floorboards burst upward, and a figure leapt into their midst.

It was a grey, gaunt giant of a man, naked save for a dirty rag twisted about his loins, gripping a rusted sword, his wild unruly mane of white hair blowing in the wind. No sooner had he stood upright, another, who could be his twin, stepped through the smashed front doorway, and a third and fourth burst through the shuttered windows opposite.

"Derketo's Tits!" swore Garai, drawing his sword and an elaborately forged hatchet from his girdle, "While we argued, they stole upon us."

Next there was a tempest of steel! The man who'd burst up from the floor thrust his rusty sword at Sigyn's belly. She twisted enough so her mail coat deflected the blade, and swung her axe, hacking thought the gaunt neck so that the man's lifeless corpse reeled backward fountaining blood, the head hanging absurdly by a strip of flesh. Barely in time she noticed another of the grey wights had slipped in the window behind her. Savagely she beat down his blade and pulped his skull with a flurry of mighty blows.

Wheeling to face another attacker she observed Garai swing his Sickle sword such that it bypassed his assailant's parry and skewered him through the ear. Nearby, Monkbat had drawn a broad saber and was slashing at the back of the final intruder, who was hunched over the still form of Bayarma, falling only after Monkbat had cared great chunks of flesh from his back so that ribs and spine shone whitely.

"Secure the doors and windows!" commanded Garai with such calm authority that all hastened to obey the ebon giant, their recent quarrel set aside. The door was set upright and wedged shut, the windows shuttered and likewise fixed.

The worked finished, Sigyn squatted down by the bar, making sure she could see all within, and hailed Anesu, who was tending to Bayarma.

"How is she?"

"Dead, I'm afraid. There's no mark on her. I suspect terror stilled her heart."

Monkbat slumped and made a sign. "She was a good, gentle woman." he said, his voice aquiver. "This is not the end I would have had for her."

Sigyn reflected that many was the good and gentle person who came to a cruel and bloody end, but held her peace. Instead she cast her gaze upon the bodies of their attackers.

"What do you make of them?" asked Garai.

"They've the look of Hyperborian Witchmen, but I did not think that cult ranged this far east. And I do not recognize that sigil painted upon their breasts."

"There I can help. I have seen a symbol much like that drawn in what was alleged to be a copy of the Book Of Skelos. Tis the sigil of Ithaqua."

"Ithaqua? I've heard that name. That's some devil that ruled the frozen north ere Ymir made it his domain. Perhaps that cur Gansuk was not as…"

Sigyn's voice trailed off as her attention was drawn by a strange low buzzing sound. The others heard it to and swung their heads bout to locate the source.

"The boathouse" muttered Monkbat. "It's coming from the boathouse." he rushed to the window and peered through the gaps in the shutters, wincing at the cold air that assailed his eye. "I see it, by ErlikI A great furred beast! The Howler!"

Sigyn went to the window nearest her. Several yards from the cabin a rude pier and boathouse had been built to contain various canoes and small rafts. It now loomed silently over the frozen waters of the Vilayet. Between the boathouse and the cabin, Sigyn made out a hulking furry shape, it seemed to approach with a smooth but unnatural gait.

"That's no beast." she said. "More likely another Witchman in a fur coat."

The buzzing continued and grew louder. Slowly it took on the semblance of coherency. Monkbat fell to his knees clutching his ears, and Sigyn's stomach turned as the unnatural mockery of a human voice intoned with maddening sibilance.

"Return that which is ours or die ere the sun rises."

Howler of the Wastes

II

"What does it mean?" asked Monkbat. "We have nothing that such a creature could desire!"

"Who knows." sneered Sigyn. "It could be anything. Can you see anymore Witchmen?"

"I can see little. The snow conceals all, and darkness falls. All I see is the furred one."

"So be it. Someone move those corpses out of the house, I'm going out." Sigyn picked up her cloak and spear and strode to the door.

"To what end?" Monkbat asked incredulously.

"To try and see what we're up against. There can't be an army of the dogs or they'd have overrun us by now, maybe the furred one is all that's left"

As Sigyn began removing the wedges and planks that held the door shut, Anesu addressed Garai.

"Go with her Garai, your strength and skill may be needed."

"As your bodyguard, my place is at your side, my lady."

"As my servant your place is to do my bidding! Go! Or would you have these outlanders question the bravery of the very bloom of Zimbabwean manhood."

Bristling. Garai rose and moved toward the door, pausing to collect a torch from a barrel of them that Bayarma kept on hand. "I live for your whim, Mistress."

Sigyn appraised Garai as he approached. No doubt he was a capable fighter, but she sensed something amiss with his carriage. "My last trip outside with a man did not go well, Kushite. Is there anything you would like to tell me ere we step outside?"

"Aye, there is. I am not a Kushite. I am from Great Zembabwei."

Sigyn grinned wolfishly. "I have been to Zembabwei; I know not what's so great about it. It looked like more Kush to me."

"I can name two great things about it." Garai replied irritably. "It does not snow there, and there are no shrewish white she-dogs!"

"Gird your loins, Kushite, and follow. I'll show you how a she-dog hunts!"

The twain stepped out onto the stoop of the way station heavy snow covered everything and gave ordinary objects outré silhouettes.

"Damballah! It's gotten colder" swore Garai, "I didn't think it possible!"

"I've known colder, but not this far into spring, and not this far south, there is deviltry at work here." Sigyn began creeping around the edge of the cabin. "Behold. The snow should be piled near waist high as long and hard as it's been coming down, but it's all blowing away to the east, as though the storm were trying to aid the Witchmen in their movements!"

"What are these Witchmen?"

"A cult of Hyperborian mystics, they engage in all manner of sorcery, necromancy and the like. Not weak fighters either. I've butt heads with them on occasion."

The pair moved around to the side of the cabin that faced the boat house. There was a pile of firewood at about the midway point, they moved behind it a stealthily as they could.

"It's black as pitch." Garai whispered, "I can see nothing. I will light the torch"

"Nay! 'Tis not so dark as that, the days are long. It's this damn storm shrouding the setting sun. Let your eyes adjust. Look!"

Sigyn pointed with her spear. Ahead they could see the blot of the furred speaker.

"I see it!" croaked Garai, "It's movement is…wrong."

"We'll soon see to that." Sigyn raised her spear and hurled it.

The spear lodged in the shape, with no discernable effect other than pushing it back a few feet. The buzzing continued uninterrupted, verily, it increased in volume.

"Damn! That was a solid hit!"

"Let me try." From beneath his parka, Garai produced a strange blade. It was about the length of a short sword, but from a central blade, the weapon split off in multiple directions like a tree limb, and each branch was a razor keen blade of about six to nine inches.

To Sigyn, the profile of some of the branches was provocatively and alluringly suggestive. "What in hell is that supposed to be?"

"In Zimbabwe, we call it a Kapinga. With training, it can be thrown with great accuracy."

"The shape of those blades is damned peculiar"

"They are forged to reflect the essence of the warriors who wield them."

Sigyn considered this for a heartbeat. "Perhaps it's time I returned to Zembabwei."

Garai shook his head in bafflement. "No matter. Behold."

With a smooth overhand cast Garai hurled the esoteric throwing knife, end over end it tumbled, it's flight ending when it lodged in the fur-covered target with a satisfying thump. Still the shape did not fall; rather, it slowly retreated back toward the boat house.

"Let us pursue it!" exclaimed Garai, his warrior spirit aflame, "Finish it before it can escape!"

"There is wisdom in that."

The pair followed after the shape as quickly as they could, Axe and Sickle-sword in hand casting furtive glances hither and yon, wary of hidden attackers.

"I see no footprints." muttered Sigyn. "Not proper ones anyway, there are some odd impressions here, like they were made by twigs."

Garai said nothing; he held his jaws shut tightly to stop his teeth chattering.

They entered the boathouse, in truth a long wide boardwalk that projected out over the water with a roof over it, and followed the peculiar narrow marks until they led behind a large canoe.

"An Ice runner." said Sigyn.

"Come again?"

"An ice runner, a canoe fitted with outriggers that have steel blades, like a sled. One can pole or even sail it across frozen water. When you reach open water, it works like a regular boat. This may come in handy."

"Most ingenious I'm sure. Let's concentrate on the task at hand."

Sigyn gestured to the shadowed area behind the ice runner. "After you."

Rounding the corner, they expected to be assaulted by the mysterious, shrouded blot; instead, they found a heap on the floor with a spear and throwing knife lodged in it.

"Not so tough after all. Light that torch, Garai."

The Zimbabwean struck flint and steel to ignite the torch, and cast its glow over the figure.

Garai recoiled in horror. "By Damballah! What is it?"

"It looks like…some sort of giant…flea."

"A flea? Don't be fatuous, Sigyn. That is clearly no flea, giant or otherwise"

"I didn't say it was a flea, Kushite. Just that it looks like one."

"Well it has fur that is decidedly un flea-like. And that odor! Like…moldy bread."

Sigyn pushed aside a portion of the fur with her spear point. "Not furred. It's wearing sort of a coat. Behold!" Sigyn grasped the thing's fur covering and pulled it aside, revealing a vision of madness.

It was a pink, scaly thing, with a baffling array of limbs, some ending in crablike pincers. What might have been wings flared limply from its back. an antennae encrusted mass served as its head. It had been pierced deeply by both spear and knife, and was spilling greenish ichor out on the planks.

"Damballah! I think it is… dissolving!" Exclaimed Garai. "How can such a thing exist?"

"You'd be surprised. Horrors like this are ten deep in some of the remote corners of the world; Hell, I've come across monsters just as horrible and strange in the heart of bustling cities."

Garai's head snapped up. "hist! do you hear…"

Sigyn heard, over the wind of the blizzard, there was the sound of raised voices, clashing steel and a Woman's screams.

"Anesu!" exclaimed Garai, almost sobbing. He tore off back to the cabin with all the haste at his disposal. Sigyn was not far behind.

From her position a few yards behind, Sigyn observed to Witchmen look out of the swirling snows to intercept the ebon warrior. With a single sweep of his sickle-sword, Garai sent them to the ground headless. They rounded the cabin, the front door was once again knocked down.

"Wait Kushite! Do not…" too late.

Garai did not heed the Aesir. Heedless of caution he plunged inside.

Sigyn entered a few heartbeats later. The cabins interior was a maelstrom of chaos. No less than six Witchmen had entered. Monkbat stood astride a prone Anesu. The little Hyrkanian wielded his saber with skill few would have credited him for. He wove a web of flashing steel that the pasty, gaunt assailants could not pierce. Bellowing, Garai struck one of the Witchmen, cleaving him from shoulder to hip. Without cry or groan the white haired ghoul crumpled in a bloody pile of steaming entrails.

Sigyn charged into the fray. Striking down a Hyperborian with an ax to the skull. His brains spattered against her face and she smiled. A savage joy welled up in her breast as she indulged in an old racial hate. For the along with the Vanir, the Hyperborians were ever the foes of the tribes of Asgard.

She stole a quick glance to see how her companions fared. Four Witchmen lay dead on the floor. Soon the last two would join them. But then, Sigyn saw two black arrows sprout from Garai's back.

"Archers!" bellowed Monkbat. "Erlik blast their souls!"

Sigyn heard a knocking sound, and felt three firm taps on her back as arrows struck her armor and were turned back. She dove for cover behind the bar.

But the archers of the Witchmen were swift, or many, perhaps both. As she dived she was struck by arrows that found gaps in her mail. One transfixing her right thigh, another embedding itself firmly in her right buttock. Howling in agony she crawled behind the bar.

"Not again!" she wailed.

Howler of the Wastes

III

Garai stumbled and dropped to one knee and a Witchman lunged to finish him, swinging his sword to strike off the Zembabwean's head. Garai managed to parry the blow, while Monkbat struck the Witchman down with a saber cut to the back. This gave the remaining Hyperborian an opening, and he thrust at Monkbat. The Hyrkanian grimaced as the sword pierced his side, but swung his saber around and severed the Witchman's sword arm. Undeterred by the loss of the arm, or troubled by the blood spurting from the stump, the Hyperborean sought to draw a poniard from his girdle to continue the fight, Monkbat finished him with a decapitating strike, and yet another head rolled.

"The door!" groaned Sigyn from behind the bar. "Secure the door! The archers…"

Monkbat, ignoring the pain of his wound, wrestled the fallen door from the floor and slammed it back into place. As he wedged it shut, he felt the impact off arrows striking it.

The arrow in her posterior was easy to remove, as it has not penetrated deeply due to her armor and cloak. The one passing though Sigyn's leg was another matter. Steeling herself, she gripped the shaft behind the head and broke it. Seizing the fletched end, she withdrew the arrow. She watched the wound bleed for a few heartbeats, and then satisfied that that no arteries were severed, she tore the hem of her tunic to make a rude tourniquet. Her wounds dressed as well as possible, she crawled out from behind the bar to survey their situation.

Garai knelt in the center of the cabin cradling Anesu in his arms, weeping. The two arrows had passed through his unarmored torso and protruded from his chest. Bloody foam flecked his lips.

Monkbat stood unsteadily with his back braced against the door, stuffing a rag into his wound to staunch the bleeding. "The devils appeared as if from nowhere! I tried to protect her, Garai." he said. "But they were many, and swift! One struck her. I am sorry."

"I should have stayed with her." sobbed Garai. "Had I been stronger and disobeyed when she sent me outside, or not insisted on pursuing the thing in the boathouse…Damballah! How has it come to this?"

Sigyn drug herself to her feet and hobbled over to Garai.

"Do not reproach yourself. You could…"

"No, Sigyn, It was my one duty. Now all is lost." He gazed down at the face of Anesu, peaceful in death, his eyes grew distant. "I loved her you know. I would have made her my woman! But she was a daughter of nobility, and I a mere soldier. I had to be satisfied with being her servant and bodyguard. For years I served her, traveling the world on her foolish adventures, ever at her side. How I longed to crush her to my bosom and kiss those sublime lips. Love! A cruel thing! More so when but one loves and the other is oblivious. Have you known Love savage?"

"Aye, I have been on both sides of that particular problem Garai. The heart is at times a hateful organ." Sigyn grasped Garai about his mighty shoulders. "Come away now. Your wounds…"

"Are my last. But I welcome death now. No, leave the arrows; I will last a bit longer with them in place. AH! I regret that Anesu and I have doomed you all with our foolishness."

"What do you mean?"

"I know what the thing in the boathouse wanted, what it spoke of, it lies in yon satchel with our luggage."

Sigyn nodded to Monkbat, who fetched the satchel and opened it. He drew forth a shining metal cylinder, roughly the size of a human head.

"This is what those fiends want?" he asked, "Why? What is this that so much blood has been spilled for it?"

Garai slowly drew a wheezing, agonizing breath, "Hearken! Anesu belongs to a secret society, dedicated to finding artifacts that, in the wrong hands, can be turned to vile purposes that menace all of humanity. Such objects recovered are destroyed when possible, or secreted away otherwise. We have engaged in this pursuit for years. We came to this cold waste to recover that object; a vessel containing the essence of an ancient necromancer. That is what the Witchmen are after."

"And you knew this, the whole time?"

"To my shame, yes. Anesu ordered we tell no one, secrecy is paramount in these matters."

Sigyn spat and hobbled back toward the bar. "Atali's Tits! Necromancers! Sorcery! Demons from the outer dark! Arallu take them all! I pray one day such things are gone and forgotten!" she began opening jars to find one that smelled intoxicating enough.

Monkbat, still holding the cylinder looked about, bewildered.

"Now what? What do we do? What do we do?"

Sigyn guzzled the contents of a particularly potent smelling jar of honey wine. wiping her lips, she said. "Die most likely, but I'll be damned if I make it easy for the bastards, I say we charge out that door and gut as many as we can."

"Why not give them this damned cylinder and have done with it, perhaps they will take it and leave!"

"Would you let foes live who have slaughtered a dozen or so of your fellows? Nay. Besides, I begrudge the dogs any reward for our deaths! We'll smash the thing ere we go out."

Garai lay Anesu back on the floor and arranged her limbs so that she appeared to be resting, then rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Do not despair friends. I would help you live, and perhaps atone for what I have visited upon you. Tie a rope to yon door so I might lift it with one hand. I will use it as a shield. I will attack the Witchmen and distract them. You two crawl out the windows opposite and run for the boathouse. Make your escape in the… the ice runner. Take the cylinder with you, deliver into the hands of one Eshu in Old Zembabwei if you can, if not, hide or destroy it. At all costs it must not fall back to the foul things that are served by this Witchmen."

"This is as good a plan as any other." stated Sigyn, "Can you make it? And you Monkbat, can you make it to the boathouse and help me get the ice runner underway?"

Both men nodded.

Hasty preparations were made; food and drink were shoved into rucksacks, a rope fastened to the heavy front door. When all was ready. Garai gripped the ropes and lifted the door, hefting the wickedly curved sickle-sword of Zembabwei, poised to burst forth and charge his foes for the last time. Monkbat clambered out of the window; Sigyn did likewise, groaning in pain as she did so.

Sitting on the windowsill, she paused.

"Garai?"

"Yes?"

"I knew you and Anesu were from Zembabwei when I first clapped eyes on you, I called you Kushite to annoy you."

"You succeeded. Farewell, she-dog."

"Farewell, Kushite."

With that, the Aesir slipped out of the window and made for the boathouse.

Garai turned, and gazed upon the lifeless form of the woman he had futilely loved for so long. Then he stepped onto the stoop. In the swirling snow before him, shadowy figures assembled. He smiled and strode forth to meet them.

"Sons of Jackals! Gird thy loins and fill thy hands with steel! I am Garai of Great Zembabwei! Give that name to your loathsome gods when they ask who sent you to hell!"

Howler of the Wastes

IV

In a haze of pain and chill, Sigyn a Monkbat careened down the slope in the teeth of frigid wind. Somehow, though night had fallen and the sky was a frigid miasma of snow, some sort of aurora played before the clouds, hideously and unnaturally illuminating the scene.

"Hold!" shouted Sigyn as they gained the boathouse "let me go in first."

"As you like."

Sigyn went to the spot were the fur-clad being had lay; all that remained was the thing's coat, Sigyn's spear and Garai's throwing knife, all lying in a viscous pink puddle. Sigyn retrieved the weapons and carried them to the ice runner. It was secured at the edge, near a block and tackle device used to lower it to the water. Placing the weapons and the pack of items liberated from the cabin inside, she returned to the remains of the creature. Taking a tarp that was covering a stack of crates, she covered the revolting puddle.

"Monkbat! Come!"

The Hyrkanian came as he was bid, shivering and teeth a-chatter.

"The cabin, it is aflame! I heard shouting, and other sounds. Ah! Erlik!"

"Keep a reign on yourself, Hyrkanian!"

Monkbat glanced back at the cabin, odd, suggestive shadows played in the reddish glow that now filled the windows

"I…I would not die here Sigyn. I fear not death, but…this is…"

Sigyn seized his furred collar and shook him. "Help me lower the ice runner! We must be away!"

The twain attached the block and tackle and released the ice runner from its moorings.

"Get in, Sigyn. Your leg. Get in and I will lower you!"

Sigyn did not argue. Climbing in to the narrow craft, she deployed the bladed outriggers and prepared to run up the crafts small triangular sail.

Then near simultaneously, Monkbat released his hold on the winch, causing the ice runner to drop the last few feet abruptly, jarring Sigyn severely. The Hyrkanian let out a shrill, soul-rending shriek, and above all, seeming to emanate from all four of the Hyrkanian's winds, there was a low, deafening, inhuman howl.

Sigyn recovered herself and looked up to see what was amiss. Monkbat stood trembling, gazing upward. His eyes near staring from their sockets and his frothing mouth working silently. Then, with another soul piercing wail he turned and ran from the boathouse.

"No Monkbat come back! You damned fool!"

Cursing, Sigyn used her axe to sever the ropes binding the

Ice runner, then, using her spear, she began poling the craft along the frozen surface of the Vilayet.

Again came the Howl. A low booming sound that Sigyn felt reverberate deep in her body.

"Do not look!" she muttered. "Do not…the sail…the rudder."

Having moved the craft into position, she set the rudder as to steer toward the clear open space to the the south, and tied it off.

Again, the Howl.

Sigyn ran up the sail. The fierce winds threatened to shred it, or break its slender mast, but it held and the ice runner sped swiftly southward.

Again, the Howl.

A wave of weakness and nausea washed over Sigyn and she slumped down by the tiller. She closed her eyes.

"No, mustn't sleep. Mustn't fall. Ymir! Aid me."

The Aesir she-wolf opened her eyes, and unthinking, Beheld.

Impossibly high above among the churning snows, delineated by the eldritch aurora, was the Howler. Its body, gaunt, grey and colossal swayed and arched. Its head and face only obscured shapes behind red glowing orbs. Sigyn wailed at her misfortune that she should be fated to behold such an affront to nature, to all that men would name good and wholesome. She raised herself up and shrieking in horror and rage hurled Garai's knife at the shadowy colossus. It spun end over end and disappeared. She threw her spear at it next, the Howler did not react. Perhaps she missed. Perhaps it could not be hurt. Perhaps it was league upon league away.

Again the Howl.

Sigyn's next conscious thought was of stifling heat. Sweating.

She rose and looked about her. Blue sky was over head, and the ice runner now sailed gently along a blue gentle sea. The blizzard was gone, and no land was in sight. Still swathed it her furs, Sigyn had become hot.

She stripped off her furs and armor and enjoyed the breeze on her skin. The events of the previous night seemed a nightmare, had her wounds not ached so. Aye, as a dream.

But there was the cylinder.

It had become dislodged from the pack and now rolled about the bottom of the ice runner. She picked it up. About a finger's width from one end there was a tiny gap. A lid. Why she opened it she could never recall, but open it she did. She spun the lid for what seemed and eternity, the threads were impossibly fine, the workmanship needed to produce them was unheard of, even amongst the clever artificers of Khitai.

At last the lid came free. Sigyn peered inside. Within was a pinkish convoluted mass that…throbbed. It was obscured by a web of fine threads or wires. Sigyn upended the cylinder. With a sickly sucking noise the contents spilled out, arrested from falling out into the craft by the net of fine, silvery wires attached to it.

It was a living human brain.

With a curse, Sigyn hurled the obscene object into the depths of the Vilayet.

The End


End file.
